Darkest Before Dawn
by Twerdiest Twerd
Summary: Jacob and Renesmee have met up in the forest behind the cottage in secret, because Bella prefers that she & Jacob stay more or less apart out of jealousy for their love of Jacob . Please tell me what you think of this story. This is my first FanFic.


The dark shape peeled away from the shadows, becoming a dark silhouette all of its own. It lifted a hand in greeting, and I returned the gesture, feeling a touch of pink colour my cheeks. Then, in a beautifully deep and silken voice, came my name – cutting through the air between us that was like a wall, a sheet of indestructible glass, keeping us from really truly every being together: "Renesmee."

I couldn't help but smile, in the dark, though I knew he couldn't see it. The way he said my name made me feel like the prize rather than the outrageously lucky winner. But _he_ was the prize; worth so much more than money or jewels, or gold, or silver.

My greeting went unspoken, and so he approached me where I stood still, in a pool of moonlight; leaning against the trunk of one of the pine trees surrounding us. I stared up at the sky, only vaguely listening to the sound of his feet crunching over twigs and leaves.

I'd always been fascinated by the stars, and the moon. I liked sitting on the windowsill in my room back at the cottage, and staring up at them. I could name lots of constellations. My grandfather, Carlisle, had told me lots of stories about where the names of the constellations came from, when I was younger. I lay, curled up in his arms, while his soft voice soothed me and fuelled my curiosity, and the stars outside of my open window twinkled and made me feel a drunken sort of happiness.

A low chuckle suddenly sounded, very close to my ear. I didn't turn; I just felt the large, soft hands on my shoulders, and the warm breath tickling my ear. "Sometimes I think you're in another place altogether, Nessie. What do you find so interesting up there, in the sky, with the stars?"

I couldn't help fixing my gaze on a bright star, twinkling in the distance, like it was winking at me. "I just find it easy to lose myself to my thoughts and my memories when I'm looking at the stars."

Jacob was quiet for a moment, which was rare with him. The silence seemed thoughtful, and I felt one of the hands on my shoulders trail down my arm and snake around my wrist. I didn't realise I was holding my breath until I felt his warm palm pressed against mine. I leant into him, leaning my head against his shoulder and staring up at the stars through the leaves of the pine trees.

I know that this isn't right. I know that despite the things we've been through, this is wrong. But I can't stay away. And he can't stay away. So what's the point? No point. Exactly.

"I love you Ness," he said. "Yes," I murmured, not really concentrating on him, and I felt a sigh shake his body. He buried his face into my hair, so that he would probably smell the strawberry scent of the shampoo I like to use. "I don't think you understand," he said in a cheerful, yet serious, voice, as he played with strands of my hair, "the power of love that comes from a werewolf's imprinting." I shrugged.

"Do I need to?" I whispered. I didn't want to hurt him, but I knew what imprinting was, he just didn't seem to think I understood it quite like he did, being a werewolf and all.

"Yes. If you ever want me to believe that you fully understand and appreciate how much I love you – how much I crave your presence – then of course you will have to. If you truly love me . . ."

Silence. Uncomfortable silence. My answer should have gone unspoken. Didn't he know how much I loved him? How much it hurt to be away from him? How much in enraged me that my mother unconsciously wished that he and I were apart because it hurt her every time he touched me, every time he kissed me? Did he know how I wished that we could be together every second? Because he was my other half, and the half-heart I had for myself was crumbling every time I saw my mom try to laugh and try to get used to the idea that one day one of the loves of her life might be her son-in-law, every time I saw his face in my mind and I reached for his hand, craned my neck upwards for a kiss, and all I found was a disgusting nothingness to greet me.

"Alright," I whispered, trying to keep my voice from wobbling. "Tell me."

"Well, I explained this to your mom once, after Quil imprinted on Claire."

I grinned. I spent so much of my time with Jacob and his friends down at the La Push reservation that I knew a lot about Quil and Claire. She was five now, just started her first year of school. Quil was still her nanny, but in a few years, he would be her friend; one that she would remember as one of her best, up until the age when she could finally think of him as something more than 'just friends'.

"Well, when I imprinted on you, there was nothing _romantic_ about it at all, not then, not for a while." He took a deep breath, frustrated. "It's so hard to describe. It's not like love at first sight, really. It's more like . . . gravity moves. When you see Her, suddenly it's not the earth holding you here anymore. She does. And nothing matters more than Her. And you would do anything for Her, be anything for Her . . . You become whatever she needs you to be, whether that's a protector, or a lover, a friend, a brother . . .

"In the beginning, I was going to be the best, kindest big brother any kid would ever have. There wouldn't have been a toddler on the planet that would have been more carefully looked after than you were. And then, when you were older and you needed a friend, which wasn't much later, I was more understanding, more trustworthy and reliable than anyone else you knew. And then, now, when you're grown up and more beautiful than ever, I find the romance in it all. I don't touch you just because you're young and you need guidance. Not because I'm reassuring you as a friend, or because I'm tapping your shoulder to tell you a secret. It's because I want to touch you, and hold you, and touch where I can't when you're an infant or young girl that can be taken advantage of.

"It didn't start to bother me until around three years ago, when you were on the brink of being what you are now, but yet you were still too young to be kissed and loved so passionately. I was still just the best friend who was always talking with your mom and your dad and running wild in the forest around Forks. I was the much abused ex-nanny who had split words into syllables so that you could understand, and had fed you while you laughed and clapped your hands.

"Now I can talk with you like a friend, but in another way, a way without any barriers. I can kiss you when we see each other, and no one would think it was strange. Do you understand now?"

And he was right. I hadn't understood before. Not like this. I could see it through his eyes. "I love you, and I'm so glad that you're the one I imprinted on. That you are mine."

"I'm yours," I said, staring straight into his deep, black eyes. "I will _always_ be yours."

He _tried _to kiss me softly. I could tell that he tried. But his intentions went up in smoke, as always.

There was fire _everywhere_, because _he_ was everywhere. His touch ignited my skin with flames that possessed a white heat. It wasn't the kind of kissing that I had experienced with him before. Before, it had all been slow. The fire had been there, but it had gently smouldered away under my skin. Now, the fire broke free of its bonds and engulfed my senses.

His hands traced my skin, burning it. His lips tasted every inch of my face. The tree trunk slammed into my back, but there was no pain. I couldn't feel anything besides the burning.

My hands knotted in his hair, pulling him to me as if there were any possible way for us to be closer. My legs wrapped around his waist, the tree giving me the leverage I needed. His tongue twisted with mine, and there was no part of my mind that was not invaded by the insane desire that possessed me.

I was on fire. My hands fisted around the fabric of Jacob's T-shirt, yanking it up. This was their idea; I didn't tell them what to do. His hands burned the skin of my back.

I felt the muscles of his stomach under my palms, my hands crushed between us.

I broke away from his mouth to breathe, and his lips scorched their way down my throat. I buried my face in his hair, inhaling the scent.

My legs wrapped tighter around his waist, and my lips found his again in the darkness of the night. His blazing hands were reaching up under my top. He kissed me hard to distract me, and I was easily distracted. I let him run his hands over my skin, exploring, feeling . . .

I was powerless against the desires that were overthrowing me; their force fuelling the flames, fuelling my senses, fuelling my hunger for him, and for him alone. His lips suddenly broke away from mine, and traced up my cheek to my ear.

"Enough for tonight, Ness. You'll be the death of me if we do this every time we meet."

My desires suddenly broke, though they still hovered, just on the outer edge of my mind. The world came back to me, and I felt the chill of the night air, the wind tangling through the forest and blowing my hair around my face in a soft halo of caramel-coloured locks.

He was holding me away from his body, so that I was gently pressed up against the tree. I wanted to feel again; his lips on mine. His hands running over my skin, scorching it with permanent scars. His voice whispering my name in a voice so soft and caring that I could almost believe that I deserved him.

He wanted me to understand the complications and facts of imprinting; that was his way of knowing how much I loved and understood him. For me, I needed his touch and his voice. If _he_ loved _me_ then he would agree to my conditions.

"Of course he loves you, silly!" The voice in my head woke from its deep slumber, and was suddenly hacking away at my thoughts and feelings. "His imprinting determines that! Who cares? He loves you, take it or leave it." I was trying to agree with the voice, but the worries that were playing with my stomach, making me feel nauseous, making my heart beat so fast that it hurt, were there, right now. Was his love for me a simple reaction to imprinting, or was there a deeper love? Would he be in love with me in this way, even if he'd never imprinted on me – or on anyone else?

I would never know. Nor did I _want_ to know. If the answer was the one I feared, then I would rather live like this, with a small hole in my chest, that grew smaller and smaller as our love bloomed more passionately, than have to live without him. I lived for him, breathed for him, thought about him every second minute; because he was my all, my everything.

"Tell me," I said, worming my way back into the circle of his arms.

"Tell you what?" he said, turning to look at me. He pulled me closer, so that I could lean my head against his chest.

I started to run my fingers up and down his arm. His skin seemed to increase in heat, if that was even possible, as if my touch excited him as much as his excited me. His eyes followed my fingertips as they gently brushed his skin.

"Good or bad?" I asked, still stroking.

He paused for a moment. "Good."

"Alright," I whispered, tracing my fingers up the contours of his arm to his collarbone. I nuzzled up against it, blowing cool little whispers of breath against it. His hand reached around to my neck, and played with the loose strands of hair on the back of it.

"Good or bad?" I whispered. His fingertips were leaving paths of fire where they touched my skin.

"Good," he said; this time without hesitation. "Now, let me ask you."

Shivers convulsed down my spine as he reached under my top again and pressed his hands against my stomach.

He leaned up against me, and whispered in my ear. His breath was a warm tickle against it. "Good or bad?"

I shivered again as his hands traced around to my back.

"Good. Very good."

"And . . . this? Good or bad?" He had stooped to my height and had gently pressed his lips to mine. After several minutes, we broke away.

We were staring at each other. His eyes were black pools, and they stared at me with a mocking earnest sparkling deep within them.

"Good," I said, twisting my fingers into his hair, and standing on my toes to reach his lips. "Definitely good."

We lay on the ground, staring at the stars, after we'd finished. We talked. We listened. We understood. I lay curled up in his arms, leaning my head against his warm chest, listening to his heart beat. It thudded softly against the side of my head.

The last thing I remember before I truly fell asleep, were lips pressed to the top of my head, and warm arms wrapped around me. A soft voice humming a tune, and twinkling stars spinning before my eyes. I also recall the humming breaking into silence, and suddenly there was a voice whispering in my ear in a way that was so soothing that I fell asleep peacefully: "Sleep well, Renesmee . . ."


End file.
